Thistle Be Bloomin' Brilliant
by JamesLuver
Summary: Modern AU. Anna Smith had always loved flowers, but she had never thought that one strange bouquet would bring her together with a man like John Bates.


**A/N:** There has to be Anna/Bates fic on Valentine's Day! This piece was based on the following prompt: P _erson A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says "How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?"_. I wanted to write it as soon as I read it, but I had other projects on the go and I didn't have time. **mr-and-mrs-bates** also started writing a fantastic flower shop AU, which I highly recommend you read if you haven't already ( _Love in Bloom_ is one of my fave fics). I discussed the potential of me writing this fic with her and she was absolutely fine with it, so I decided to go ahead and do it.

The rating is for the use of the eff-word, and a couple of conversational references to sex, but it's completely tame otherwise!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

 _Thistle Be Bloomin' Brilliant_

Anna Smith hummed as she clipped off the bottom of the stems on the flowers she was using for the latest window display meant to entice the customers inside. That was one of the things she loved about her job. The silence. The street noise, quiet at the best of times, was muffled by the thick glass windows, leaving only the repetitive snip _snip snip_ of the scissors to be heard. It was such a welcome change. Anna was used to life being full of noise. Her friends were vibrant and loud. She loved them, and enjoyed having fun, but she also liked taking a step back and slowing things down. That was why this was perfect. It gave her the chance to wind down, to focus her attention on something beautiful and delicate, to hear her thoughts. Mary, her best friend, would wrinkle her nose at that. She had never been able to understand Anna's love for what she did. They had started there together as a way of earning a bit of pocket money. Violet Crawley, Mary's often cantankerous granny, owned the place and had set her granddaughter on to earn her keep, but it had not lasted long. As soon as she had been old enough, she had gone off to university and never looked back, practically living off alcohol and two hours of sleep per night. Anna had taken the more conservative approach, keeping the job on at the weekend so she still had some income and studied hard in the week. Both methods had yielded the same result, with Mary somehow graduating with a respectable degree despite her partying. She had found her way into the fashion industry, and was now in charge of her own team.

Anna had taken a more modest career. She had graduated with an English degree and had pursed a career in teaching, where she was very happily settled. However, she had never quite been able to give up the little job in Violet's flower shop. Her hours had been reduced dramatically, but she worked Saturday mornings for the acerbic old woman, and in many respects it was the part of her week she looked forward to most of all.

"Anna, love, I'm just going to pop out for my break."

She turned to find old Bill Molesley standing behind her, clutching at a pack of cigars. He was another staple of this little shop. He had been there for her very first day, and she couldn't see him ever retiring. He loved working with flowers too much. He was the perfect manager for Violet's vision.

"All right," she said. "Take your time."

"Joe's just in the back. Shout him if it gets busy."

"I will," she reassured the older man, hiding her smile. The shop rarely got too busy to cope with, and Joseph, Bill's only son, was hardly much help at the best of times. He too seemed to enjoy hanging around the flower shop on a Saturday. He worked at the same school as she did, as a history teacher, and had taken up the job of volunteering most enthusiastically when she had mentioned in passing that she worked with his father. She tried not to think of the reasons why that might be too often. It was better if those things were left unsaid.

Shaking her head, she went back to arranging the display, losing herself in creating a statement, in putting together bold choices of colour that drew the eye in. She had just stepped back to assess her handiwork when the old bell above the front door tinkled.

"That was quick," she commented, expecting to find Bill behind her when she turned, an explanation of what he had forgotten on his lips. She stopped short, feeling her cheeks burst with heat. "Oh, I'm sorry! I thought you were someone else."

Because, standing behind her, was a man who most definitely wasn't old Bill Molesley.

"Quite all right," he said, stepping forward. The cane which he held in his right hand rang out loud against the floorboards. Anna averted her eyes quickly. She didn't want him to think that she was staring, judging. She found his gaze instead. He was smiling, but she could detect a tightness around his mouth, and though his eyes were soft, there was a definite steel there.

"How can I help you?" she said, putting down her scissors and wiping her hands on the towel she had set to the side.

The man fished in his pocket and brought out his wallet. His hands trembled as he brought out two crisp twenty pound notes, but his voice was calm when he spoke.

"I have more money if it's needed, but I need a bouquet with a very specific message."

"We have cards that you can write and attach—"

"No, that's not what I mean."

Anna frowned. "Then you want the flowers to send the message?"

"Yes, that exactly."

"Not a problem. Flower symbolism can often be vastly underrated, but it shows a very personal touch. What would you like them to say?"

She had seen her fair share of men purchasing flowers in her years in the industry. Nervous young men with sweating hands, pointing aimlessly at this flower and that to put together a haphazard bouquet meant with great feeling. There were the slimy ones who purchased the biggest and most expensive bouquets they could find, no doubt to worm their way back into their partner's good books. And then there were the ones who glanced around furtively, who pointed out what they wanted as if they were hitting up a drug deal, who paid in cash—no doubt cards could be traced and would leave the significant other wondering just where the purchase from _Violet's Flower Garden_ had gone if it hadn't come to them. Once, bizarrely and uncomfortably, she had been asked to put together a 'thanks for the sex' bouquet by one eager teenager, who had demanded to know what flowers best represented some serious mattress tangoing. It had almost been enough to make her sick. If _she_ was ever unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of something like that, they'd end up firmly back in the giver's face. She had filled out that order with a barely contained grimace.

Nothing, not even that, compared to the request she got from this quiet man, with the eyes that flashed and seethed with perfectly masked rage.

"What I want," he said, "is the biggest bouquet you can make, passively-aggressively saying—pardon my French—'fuck you'."

Anna blinked.

Nope, nothing compared.

"You want a bouquet to say 'fuck you'?" she echoed tentatively.

"I realise it's a strange request."

"I can't say I've had many of those before." She paused. "Is it…is it a good idea?"

Not everyone liked their decisions being questioned. Once, she had tried to steer a customer in the direction of another type of flower that would complement the bunch better, and had received some choice words in reply. After that, she had tried to read a person's body language before offering her opinions, not willing to be spoken to like that again. Others welcomed a second opinion. This gentleman, while not seeming the type to change his mind easily, also did not seem the type to bite her head off if she offered a suggestion. And she didn't think she could live with herself if she didn't offer one here.

True to her estimations, the man's lips quirked. "Probably not. In fact, I _know_ it's not. But it'll make me feel bloody good, so I'm going to do it. Do you know what I need?"

Well, that was that. She wasn't about to push further. So she nodded instead, moving with business-like intent over to the various displays, plucking a blooming flower here, a bud there. When she had gathered all she could carry, she took them over to the desk, laying them out gently. It was make for an eclectic mix of colours, but it would do its job well. Even if the recipient was unlikely to know what the heck it meant.

"Right," she said, pushing those thoughts to the side. "Here's what I can do for you. A mix of geraniums, foxgloves, meadowsweets, carnations, and lilies will do the trick."

"Excellent," said the man. "Can I ask…?"

She anticipated the rest of his sentence, and nodded. "Of course. So the geraniums signify stupidity because I'm assuming you want to get a petty dig in there. The foxgloves are for insincerity because you wouldn't be sending this bouquet if whoever it's intended for hadn't done something to really piss you off. The meadowsweets are for uselessness, because it's always good to have a second dig in there. The carnations have to be yellow because that symbolises disappointment in someone. And the orange lilies here are for hatred. They can come out, though, if you think that that's too extreme."

"On the contrary," he murmured, "that's perfect. You can add a few more of the lilies, if you'd like."

"If that's what you want," she said smoothly, never letting her professional façade stumble as she began to arrange the flowers into a huge bunch. Inside, she was burning with curiosity. Just who were these flowers intended for, and why had they invoked such a sense of disdain in him? They were probably for a woman. Men didn't often send other men flowers. Unless he was gay. But, somehow, Anna didn't think so. So that, logically, left a woman as the recipient. Was she an ex he had caught cheating? That was the most logical explanation Anna could come up with. Even then, if _she_ was in his position, she'd probably just cut all ties and have done with it. This kind of thing was risky business.

Well, to each his own.

"Is there an address you'd like these sent to?" she asked as she finished wrapping the flowers in cellophane.

The man shook his head. "No, that's fine. I'll deliver them myself. I'd rather not embroil your name. If you ever get anyone in here questioning you about me, pretend that you know nothing. That'll be for the best."

That sounded ominous. Violet would probably kill her if something happened to the flower shop, forget the fact that she had been friends with her eldest granddaughter for over a decade. Just who was she dealing with? Whoever those flowers were intended for sounded like they should be locked up, not wandering around civilisation.

"Right," she said, trying to keep her voice casual, like it was no big deal, like she dealt with these situations every day. "Well, here you go."

"Thank you," he said, taking the wrapped flowers from her. For the barest of seconds, their fingertips brushed. Something…something seemed to almost _spark_ between them. Something that she had never felt before. Shocked, Anna's eyes leapt up to find his, pulling her hand away sharply, almost afraid of what she would find there. The man was quick to avert his, clearing his throat.

"Well, thank you for that," he said. "I'll be on my way now."

Mutely, she nodded, and watched him limp out of the door. The door shut behind him, leaving the bell tinkling in his wake.

"Anna?"

She spun on her heel to find Joseph behind her, a cup of tea in one hand, a large, toothy grin on his face.

"I've just planted the new buds out back," he announced, then paused, a frown deepening on his face. "Anna, is something wrong?"

She suppressed the urge to look back towards the door where the man had disappeared.

"Nothing," she said. "Nothing at all."

* * *

"That is one of the craziest things that I've ever heard, and I've had my fair share of crazy!"

Anna glanced through the mirror at Mary Crawley sitting on her bed behind her. She was lounging in a dress that was almost too short to be called such, sipping at wine through a straw.

"I know," she said, putting the finishing touches to her makeup. "It certainly livened things up."

"How come nothing interesting ever happened when I worked there?" said Mary, wrinkling her nose. "Mind you, I suppose I had a lucky escape. The last thing I would want would be to play the gooseberry."

"Oh, don't start with that again."

"And don't you play the denial card again, either. You're going to have to face it one day. Joseph Molesley wants to pollinate your flower."

Anna pulled a face, turning to lob a cushion at her friend's smirk. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard."

"It's true. He's been pining after you for yonks."

"Well, he'll be pining for a lot longer. I don't feel that way about him."

"I wish you'd let me set you up on a date with someone. I could find you someone in no time."

"I'm perfectly happy with the way things are at the moment. Besides, you'd only complain if you had to hear about the details of my love life."

"That's not true."

Anna raised her eyebrow, and Mary had the grace to look repentant.

"Well, it's not completely true," she amended. "I'd only complain if I didn't have a love life of my own. Which I don't at the moment. Damn. All right, it would make me very jealous if you were getting it off with some handsome bloke and I was stuck on my own."

"I wouldn't have pinned you down as the type of girl who found Joseph handsome."

"And you'd be right. I was thinking more along the lines of a handsome stranger." With a sigh, she checked the clock. "And meeting handsome strangers is exactly what we should be doing right now."

"I'm almost ready," said Anna. Mary could be so demanding sometimes. She loved living with her best friend, but it did have its downsides. Like the practice of bringing home handsome strangers to warm her bed at night. She never slept easily those nights, and the awkward morning breakfasts were even worse. _She_ was the one who always had to play gooseberry, never mind Mary. She did not really feel like going out tonight, not after working all week. But she had promised Mary and their other friends, and she couldn't duck out now.

Besides, it would be nice to go out and have some fun, and put the strange encounter of the afternoon to the back of her mind.

* * *

It was a mantra that she regretted twenty-four hours later, when she was standing in a different venue still nursing a hangover.

The music seemed to reverberate within her very skull. Her eyes almost throbbed. Every time she took a delicate step, her insides protested. Usually, there was nothing she loved more than spending her time on the dancefloor. Now the mere thought of it made her feel faint. She clutched her glass of water as if it was a lifeline. She couldn't move from this corner, not even if someone offered her a million pounds.

Mary seemed to be in much the same mind.

"Remind me how you managed to convince me that going here was a good idea," she groaned, taking a gulp of water as if her life depended on it.

"Because it's your youngest sister's birthday?" Anna responded tiredly. "Who was the one who thought going out last night was a good idea?"

"You didn't complain at the time. And you didn't have to keep drinking."

"I lost track after the eighth. My liver's going to be feeling this for a long time to come."

"Forget your liver, my head feels like it's going to explode any minute. Not to mention the dance my stomach is doing right now."

It hadn't stopped Mary from doing a very different kind of dance with Tony Gillingham only hours before, but Anna said nothing. Best not to bring that up again. He had seemed very reluctant to leave, and Mary had been very reluctant to let him stay for morning coffee. That was bound to end in disaster. Her best friend had not been forthcoming with the details, which Anna assumed meant that the passionate night had not matched up in the cold light of day.

"Who's that with Sybil?" she said instead, looking over to where Sybil was wrapped in the arms of some young man, her face positively alive with joy.

Mary sniffed. "That's Tom Branson. Her boyfriend."

"You never mentioned she had a boyfriend!"

"Well, we're all hoping it doesn't last. He's not suitable at all."

"Why not?" Anna glanced back over. The young man was laughing, holding Sybil tight around the waist. He seemed pleasant enough to her.

"He's a bit of a waster," was the reply. "Works as a mechanic and does some sort of journalist course on the side."

That wasn't Anna's definition of being a waster. Earning money and studying on the side? That took _dedication_. Still, she wasn't in the mood to argue with her friend—her head was already pounding enough—so she let it drop, her gaze wandering around the room, wondering what she could change the subject to.

She froze.

What the—?

"Anna, what's wrong?"

She heard Mary's voice as if it was filtering to her through water, but she couldn't turn towards her. She sat as though every muscle in her body had been frozen, taut and unmoving.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

"Don't look now," she said lowly, "but the man I told you about yesterday has just walked in."

As subtle as a sledgehammer, Mary whipped around at once, then winced. "Ah, God, that wasn't good for my head. Where am I looking?"

Typical. Anna huffed, purposefully looking off in the other direction, barely moving her mouth as she spoke. "The tall man with your dad."

"There are two with him."

"The one…the one with the cane." Anna was loath to describe him like that, but from here, it was his most defining feature.

Mary's eyes widened. "Are you _serious_? _Him_?"

"I just said so, didn't I?" she retorted impatiently.

"Well, yes, but—good God, that's _John_!"

"Yes, it's—wait, _what_? You know his _name_?"

"Of course I know his name! I've known him since being knee height!"

Anna broke every silent promise she'd made to keep looking the other way so that she could ogle more openly. The man—John—was standing with Robert Crawley, his hand enclosed in a rather vigorous handshake from the other. "And how exactly do you know him?"

"Papa's best friend. They go back years. Knew each other from the army. John saved Papa's life. That's why he has the cane. Took a bullet for him."

"A _bullet_?" Wow. Anna eyed him again—or at least what she could see of him. There wasn't much to tell from his side profile. When all was said and done, he was a _hero_. "But how come I've never come across him before if he's such good friends with your papa?"

"He only moved up here a few weeks ago. He's lived in London for years, but he decided to make the change of scenery permanent. Papa is over the moon about it because they don't see each other enough for his liking, and Sybil hasn't stopped talking about it. He's her godfather."

"So what prompted the change? And why did he come into the flower shop?"

Mary waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, that. Well, he's been in the throes of a messy divorce for the past three years. I suspect it has something to do with his wife, Vera. She's a real bitch."

A messy divorce. Well, that made sense. People were rarely at their bests during messy break ups.

At that moment, John turned a little. His gaze caught hers.

Damn.

"He's looking over!" she hissed.

Mary seemed to have lost all interest now she knew the identity of the mysterious flower buyer. "So? He _is_ allowed to look around the room. He'll probably come over in a while. I'm sure that Edith and I would have been his godchildren too if Papa had met him before we were born. Although I do think it was a little absurd to give him the responsibility when he had such a crackpot for a wife and his own troubles to boot—"

"He'll hear you!" Anna said frantically as she watched him turn to Robert and excuse himself from the conversation.

"Oh, he agrees with me himself, don't you, John?"

For at that moment, John Bates himself had reached them. He shot them a smile, the kind that made his eyes glint and the lines around them deepen.

"I daresay I do," he said. "How are you, Mary? You look lovely as always."

"Thank you, John," she replied, tilting her head to signal that she wanted a kiss on the cheek—always one for a proper English greeting, was Mary. "You look surprisingly well."

"High praise, coming from you," he said cheerfully.

"I prefer to tell it like it is, otherwise it only leads to disappointment. Yorkshire seems to suit you. Though you could stand to lose that ghastly mark on your cheek."

"I'll be sure to magic it away," said John. This time, he turned his slight smile on her, and Anna felt herself quiver. "Hello again."

"Hello," she managed, trying to keep her eyes away from the cut on his cheek. _That_ hadn't been there yesterday. It looked quite nasty.

"Are you going to introduce us?" he said to Mary.

She gave a dismissive wave of the hand. "Yes, yes. Anna, this is John Bates, as I've just told you. John, this is Anna Smith. I gather you are already familiar with her."

"We've made an acquaintance," Anna stammered. "But it's nice to have a name for the face."

He inclined his head towards her. "Indeed. It's nice to meet you, Miss Smith."

He hooked his cane over his left wrist and offered his right hand to her; without hesitation, she took it. He had a nice grasp, gentle but firm. His fingers were warm and calloused, his hand eclipsing hers entirely. For some rhyme and reason, she found herself shivering.

"Oh, lord," muttered Mary, breaking through the moment; Anna dropped his hand.

"What is it?" she said.

"I didn't realise Tony Gillingham would be _here_ tonight! Who invited _him_?"

She probably had, in her drunken stupor last night, Anna thought, but thought it best not to voice that if she didn't want one of Mary's famous withering looks shot her way. Instead, she gave a non-committal shrug.

"Maybe you should go and get a drink?" she said. "Lay low for a while?"

"Don't mention drink," Mary moaned. "But yes, that might be prudent. Sorry to have to dash like this, but it's for a good cause. Come and find me later, Anna. Goodbye, John."

"Goodbye," John answered, looking nonplussed. He turned to Anna with a quizzical raise of the eyebrow. "Do you have any idea what that was about?"

"I'm afraid I do," she sighed. "But I think it's a subject best left alone."

"Duly noted." John raised his glass to his mouth. A soft drink, she noticed. There was a moment of brief, awkward silence.

"So, how did the delivery of the flowers go?" she found herself blurting to cover it, then winced. If it had gone well, in all likelihood he wouldn't have shown up sporting a cut across his cheek.

Seeming to read her mind, John gave a wry smile that disclosed nothing. "Let's just say it could have gone better. And I have already endured more than my fair share of 'I told you so's from Robert, so let's leave it at that."

Anna nodded wordlessly, wishing suddenly that she had something stronger than water. John fiddled with his own glass, and kept clearing his throat as if he was trying to find a conversation starter.

"So, you know Mary?" he said at last.

Anna seized onto it gratefully. "I do."

"How did the two of you meet?"

"I babysat for her back in the day. It blossomed from there. She was much more mature than her age let on."

John frowned at her. "You _babysat_ for her? Forgive me, but you don't look old enough to have. I assumed you were the same age."

"Women don't like to talk about their ages," she teased. "If you must know, I'm a few years older than she is. But we hit it off right away. She's my best friend, maddening as I'm sure you know she can be at times."

"Robert often despairs of her," John agreed with an amused smile. "It's impossible to argue that she doesn't know her own mind. I'm often in awe of how she and Edith can be so different."

Edith and Mary _were_ very different. Edith was quieter, more reserved. Anna had had to referee some frightful fights back in the day, but Edith had mellowed with age, thankfully. These days, it was Mary who insisted on keeping up the old adversity. It was tiresome at times.

Shaking her head, Anna prompted, "Mary told me that you're Sybil's godfather?"

"That's right," he confirmed. "It's the only reason I agreed to come here tonight. Parties aren't my forte, I'm afraid. Far too old for all of that nowadays."

"You're not too old," she protested, and he chuckled.

"You're kind to disagree," he said. "But it's the truth. I came because I didn't want to disappoint Sybil. And Robert too, I suppose. He's trying to introduce me to his inner circle so that he doesn't feel as if I don't know anyone up here."

"Oh, yes," said Anna, remembering what Mary had just told her. "You've just moved up here, haven't you? Are you in Downton, or somewhere further afield?"

"I moved into Downton. On the outskirts, really. There was a lovely cottage that needed some restoration, which I took a shine to. I can't say I really have an eye for decor, but it might keep me out of trouble for a while." He offered her a smile. In her chest, her heart did a funny kind of shiver. She tried to tamp it down by asking him what he thought of Downton so far. He gave her his impressions, and she was pleased that he seemed to like it so much. Why, she couldn't say.

"It's a beautiful area," she agreed. "Especially for the flowers. There's something about the earth here that seems to make them grow differently. Violet often wins the prizes for the best blooms at all the flower shows."

John raised his eyebrow. "Violet? As in Robert's mother?"

"That's right," she said. "She owns the flower shop you came into yesterday."

"I thought you owned that establishment."

She laughed. "It's a passion of mine, but these days it's more of a hobby than it is a career."

"Oh?"

"I used to work there as a teen," she explained. "But now I do it for a few hours on a Saturday morning. I'm a schoolteacher. Primary, to be exact."

"That's wonderful," John said warmly. "It must be very rewarding."

"It is. But I fell in love with being a florist, too, so that's why I could never quite give it up."

"Well, you definitely know your stuff. I was very impressed with you yesterday." He coughed, seeming to realise that he was getting too close to a subject that he didn't want to discuss, and Anna dived in, wanting to help him out.

"Mary said you were in the army," she said casually. "What is it you do these days?"

The grateful look he shot her told her that he was glad that she hadn't tried to pursue that line of questioning again. "Not much, as it so happens. It's surprising how many restrictions are in place for someone with a useless leg."

"You're not useless," she protested, disliking the dismissive, self-depreciative tone in his voice. More to the point, why she felt the need to rally against him so firmly when she had only just met him was a mystery to her.

It was because she hated to see people feel badly about themselves, she told herself firmly. That was all. There was no other reasonable explanation.

John shot her a wry smile, as if part-amused, part-confused by her rigorous defence of him, and continued, "Anyway, Robert offered me a job, so I work with him now. It's rather interesting, actually."

"And I'm sure you're very good at it, too," she said. For some reason, she was struck by the thought that this man was unused and unable to take compliments or praise. It would not stop her administering them.

They sat and chatted for a little longer until Anna was approached by one of Mary's friends for a dance. Her friend was at the other side of the room, and she raised her glass in a congratulatory manner that seemed to say, _Thank me later_.

Bloody brilliant, she thought resentfully as she was pulled away from John's side in favour of trying to keep this bloke's poor attempts at seduction at bay. She had been enjoying herself, too. John was a very interesting man, and once the initial awkwardness had been overcome, she found that they had quite a lot in common, and conversation flowed easily. He was a far more stimulating prospect than this drunken lothario, who kept trying to slide his hands down to her backside while they danced. She'd have to be very drunk to let him touch her there, and the jumping about was certainly doing her pounding head no favours.

When at last the song finished, Anna extracted herself quickly.

"Ah, babe, don't be like that!" the man protested, squinting at her through hazy eyes. "Let's have another dance."

"No, thank you," she said firmly. "I've had quite enough for now."

With that, she turned her back on him, leaving him disappointed in her wake. She sought out the place where she had left Mr. Bates before she had gone off to dance.

He was no longer there.

She stopped short, an odd disappointment welling up inside her. Of course, she could hardly have expected him to still be sitting there, all on his own. He'd probably gone to socialise with someone else.

Well, she needed another glass of water. She made her way over the bar, trying not to let her eyes wander hopefully around the room in search of a particular tall and broad figure. This hangover was making her irrational. There was no reason why she should feel that way about a man she had met only an hour ago. More than that, a man who had a curiously complicated life. God, what would Mary say if she knew the thoughts that were going round in her head? It was utter madness. At least when Mary made questionable choices, she could usually blame it on the fact that she had made them under the influence.

It was just as she was taking the glass of water that the barman had slid towards her when she saw him again. He was near the door, and he was pulling on his coat.

Leaving already?

Anna dithered for a moment, then threw caution to the wind. Leaving her drink there, she pushed her way through the crowd and reached him just as he'd put his hand on the doorknob.

"That was a flying visit," she said, and he jumped, spinning round. He smiled slightly when he recognised her.

"As is usually my style, I'm afraid," he said. "As I said, parties aren't really my thing these days. I've made my excuses to Robert and Sybil. It'll carry on just fine without me."

"You might have the right idea," she said. "This music is giving me a bit of a headache."

"It's a bit too modern for my tastes," he agreed. "Although I'm sure there would be public outcry if I dared to voice that opinion."

She smiled at him, holding out her hand for him to shake again. "Well, it was very nice to meet you, John. I hope I see you around sometime."

He took her hand after a moment, giving it another strong shake. "You too, Anna. Take care."

"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you find your feet around here."

He shifted the cane in his hand. "Now you say that, there might be something you can help me with right now."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Is there a coffee house around here that you would recommend? I was thinking of grabbing one before I head home, and I'm unlikely to get one here."

Anna snorted, glancing round at the alcohol that was flowing freely. "Mrs. Patmore's is a good place. Probably the best in town. It's my favourite place to go to pick up a latté on the way to work."

"Mrs. Patmore's," he repeated. "Right. Thank you. Can you give me the address? My geography of the area is woeful right now, and I can input it into the SatNav."

For a moment, Anna dithered, caught between two minds. She had never been very good at throwing herself at men. Unlike Mary, she had never really been very impulsive.

But there was something else tugging at her now, something she had never felt before, a kind of compulsion that overrode everything else.

She wanted to get to know this man better.

There was simply something about him. Something about the way that he smiled, the crinkles that framed his eyes, the broad masculine features. There was something about the way he spoke and his gentle giant demeanour and the self-deprecation that crept into his tone that drew her in, like a moth to the dangerous flame.

Not that she thought John Bates was _dangerous_.

Without giving herself too much time to think it over, she said, "Better yet, I'll show you where it is. Come on. Unless you'd rather go alone?" she faltered, backtracking when she realised just how pushy she sounded.

But John gave her a gentle smile. "Not at all. But what about Mary? Shouldn't you tell her where you're going?"

"I'll text her," she said quickly. If she told her now, it would only raise too many unwanted questions; Mary could be dogged in her interrogations. "Besides, I think it'll do me some good. I need to take some paracetamol and get away from the noise."

"Then I would be honoured," he said, holding open the door. "After you."

She ducked beneath his arm and out onto the cool street.

"Where are you parked?" he asked.

"Oh." She felt herself blush to the roots. "Actually, I didn't. I had far too much to drink last night. It's probably out of my system, but I didn't think I should risk it just in case. Especially going somewhere with more alcohol, even though I think I'd die if I took a sip of any tonight."

He chuckled. "Well, I think that's a wise decision. I'm parked just down that side street there. Unless you'd rather walk?"

She shook her head. "No, the car is fine."

She followed him, her heart doing a tight drumroll in her chest. God, this was so unlike her. It felt almost mad.

But, she thought as John held open the door for her to slip inside the passenger seat, there was also something about it that felt _right_.

* * *

Months later, Anna knew she had been correct to trust her instincts.

Because John Bates had become an irreplaceable part of her life.

It was strange how quickly it had happened, really, as if they had known each other for years and not built a bond based on a chance meeting only comparatively recently. When she was with him, however, Anna knew that she had been blessed to stumble across something that could never be replicated again.

The night in the coffee shop had been wonderful. They'd talked and laughed over their drinks, the fire crackling and popping in the hearth, the orange light dancing over his face and making his eyes shine. When it had been time to go, after Mrs. Patmore had banged about the room pointedly one too many times, John had offered to drive her home. She'd accepted. On her doorstep, emboldened, she'd asked for his phone number so that they could do something else again sometime.

And they had. Trips to the cinema, teas out, a few reluctant shopping trips, gatherings with the Crawleys. And there had been days spent in their own properties, too, watching television or just having general catch ups.

But, despite the confusing mix of feelings in her heart, not one of them could be construed as a date. John had never so much as brushed his hand against her own, never mind moving in for a kiss. Not even one on the cheek. Their relationship was completely and utterly platonic.

She had never been more disappointed about anything. Which was absurd, really. How many times had she bemoaned to Mary that she couldn't find a single man out there who didn't want to get into her knickers the very first time that they'd met her? And now she'd met one who _was_ a complete gentleman, and oftentimes she found herself wishing that he wasn't so honourable.

One night, on one of their rare Girls Nights In, Mary had asked her outright: "Are you sleeping with John Bates?"

Anna had almost choked on her wine. " _What_? Of course not!"

Mary had picked idly at some fluff on her skirt. "It's not an outlandish thing to ask, you know. You spend all that time locked up with him. You go round to his house, for God's sake! When there's no one else there! It doesn't get more conveniently private than that."

"Well, we're not," she'd replied firmly. Though just because they weren't didn't mean that she didn't _want_ them to.

She wasn't sure how it had even started. The way he looked at her, the way he made her laugh, the way he put her so at ease…all of it had come to a head one day, hitting her round the head as dizzyingly as a knockout punch from a heavyweight boxing champion.

She was falling for him.

Oh, he was far from perfect, she had discovered that. As their friendship had blossomed, he had evidently been uncomfortable with her ignorance of some of the darkest corners in his closet. He had told her how he had been an alcoholic in the days following his release from the army, how he had been unable to hold down a job, how he had been on the brink of self-destruction when he had taken a good, long look in the mirror and decided that he needed to turn his life around.

He was now no further forward in the divorce proceedings than he had been when they had first met, and the frustration at this came off him in waves. There was something about Vera that made his temper flare every single time, even though he knew it was playing straight into her hands.

No, he was far from perfect. But she admired the way he had worked so hard to make himself a better man, and she did not judge him for the things that he couldn't change in his past. The man he was today, the man she had always known him to be, that was all that mattered to her.

It was partly why Mary's words had struck such a nerve with her. And add to the fact that Mary had started dating someone seriously again, and Anna couldn't help but feel a little lonely.

It now meant that she was spending more and more time with the object of her affections, too, in a bid to avoid too much PDA from Mary and her new beau. Matthew was a very nice young man, polite and respectful, but there were only so many times she could walk in on him half-naked without beginning to feel awkward. She _was_ grateful for the impression he had made on Mary, who was restless when it came to lovers to say the least. She had been wavering about Matthew too, at first, when she had realised that they were some kind of distant relation ("Can you _imagine_ how Edith would crow about keeping it in the family if I accepted his dinner offer!?"), but at last she had caved, and he had been very good for her. Mellowing. It was just a pity that Anna couldn't have that too.

But she hadn't given up hope of it. At least, not yet. Because there _were_ times when she was almost sure that John felt something for her as well.

And it gave her something to hold on to.

* * *

"You don't mind me coming round tonight, do you?" Anna whispered down the phone as she glanced out into the hallway.

John's voice came over the line, reassuring despite the crackle of static. "Of course not. It will save me from spending an evening with just myself for company. We can order something in and find something to watch. Unless you'd rather go out?"

"No, staying in is fine," she said at once, knowing that he was likely to be tired. He had spent the week back in London, arguing over the intricacies of his divorce yet again.

"What time can I expect you over?" he said.

"Sooner rather than later," she said, retracting back into her room. "Matthew's just arrived."

And was currently receiving a very enthusiastic welcome from Mary.

John gave a dry chuckle. "Ah, I see. Well, I'll look out for you. See you soon."

"Bye," she echoed, and ended the call. She gathered her things together and headed for the door.

"Oh, are you off out?" said Mary, separating herself from Matthew's mouth long enough to register that she was putting on her shoes.

"Yeah," she said. "I thought I might head over to John's for a while."

Mary raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a smirk playing about the corners of her mouth. "Oh, you did, did you?"

"Yes, Mary. Now please get your mind out of the gutter. There's _nothing_ going on."

"If you say so," said Mary, in the tone that let her know that she would never be believed. She heaved an exasperated sigh and closed the door behind her.

Still, the potential bad mood melted away as soon as John's dear little cottage came into view. Unbidden, her heart rate picked up. Silly, really. She was twenty-six, not a schoolgirl with her first crush.

It didn't stop her from checking her reflection in her rear view mirror one last time before getting out of the car.

She made her way down the path to John's quaint front door and knocked. It opened a few moments later, to John's smiling face.

"Come in," he said, holding it open for her, and she ducked inside. Kicking off her shoes, she trod the familiar path to his cosy sitting room. She loved this room. They'd spent many a happy hour here. The warmth of the fire touched every corner, and he always let her have the fat, chintzy armchair by the radiator because she liked the extra warmth sinking into her bones. She loved his bookcases, taking over the majority of the room and crammed with every genre imaginable. She'd discovered many an interesting read there.

"Would you like a drink of anything?" he asked as she set her bag down.

"A hot chocolate would be lovely," she answered. John didn't stock alcohol, and nor did she want him to. She didn't want that temptation around him.

He nodded. "Make yourself at home. Let me know if there's anything particular you want to do. We can pick up where we left off with that godawful drama, if you want, or I can listen to you let off steam if Mary is being her usual impossible self, or we can sit here in silence. The possibilities are endless."

"Well, we'll see," she said. "Wait, do I really complain about Mary so much?"

John's eyes twinkled. "Well, not that much. But I know you. I know when something's troubling you. And usually that has something to do with Mary. I can't say I blame you. Mary is enough to drive anyone up the wall sometimes. You really are a saint for somehow being able to put up with her every whim. Robert loves her dearly, but even he spends most of his time absolutely bemused by her."

Anna snorted. She had a feeling that Robert spent most of his time feeling bemused, surrounded as he was by four strong women. Five, if his mother was included, and she really ought to be; Violet Crawley was still the same force of nature she had been in her youth.

"I'll go and make you that hot chocolate," he said. "Whipped cream and marshmallows on top. I have a feeling you need the extra comforting fat."

"You know me too well," she said, sighing as she sank down onto the plush sofa. There was a brief flash across his expression, almost too fleeting to see, before his usual soft smile returned.

"I'll be back soon," he said. She sat back and listened to the comforting sounds of him moving around the kitchen. He did not use his cane when he was in the house, able to manage without, and she enjoyed listening to the domestic sounds of the kettle boiling, of things clanging together in the fridge as he searched for the milk, of the clatter of a spoon against the counter and the rattle of the cream can.

Her gaze drifted back over to John's bookcase. It would rival a keen academic's. She might as well see if anything took her fancy. She wasn't sure if she was really in the mood to explain about Mary—it would mean having to find a way to skirt around the truth of her feelings, and she wasn't sure if she was feeling clever enough for that. The last thing she needed right now was to reveal too much when she was feeling oddly vulnerable, nor did she want to torture herself trying to imagine what John's reaction might feasibly be. No, it was better if they avoided conversation for now. And a book would do that more effectively than a television show would; nothing engrossed John quite like the written word. It was utterly endearing to see. He'd never looked more adorable than when he had that little frown of concentration creasing his brow.

Something caught her eye on the very bottom shelf. It was squashed somewhat inconspicuously to one side, but its bulky size made it stand out from the crowd. _That_ certainly hadn't been there the last time she had visited. She wondered what it was. Clearly it wasn't a fictional book. Had he found a new interest? She knew that he was a keen reader of historical works as well as fiction, and his planner was always full with documentaries that he'd recorded to catch up on. She slid off the settee, curious, but before she could take more than two steps towards the bookshelf, John reappeared, clutching a mug in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other.

"Here we are," he announced, and she turned away. His gaze flickered, briefly, in the direction that hers had been, and for a moment she thought she saw a shadow cross his face. But it was gone in the next instant, and she forgot all about it when she pressed the warm mug to her lips and snaffled a biscuit from the plate. She didn't think about the book again all evening as he engaged her in conversation and then saw her to the door, murmuring words to have a safe journey home and to text him when she got in.

She didn't remember the book until the next time she called round, but when she made her way to the bookcase, she found that it was gone.

* * *

Several more months passed in the blink of an eye. Mary and Matthew's relationship steadied and settled. For the first time in a long time, her best friend seemed content.

"Now we've just got to get you sorted," she was fond of saying. Anna would make a non-committal noise, her thoughts drifting to the other side of town, to the man who made her heart flutter just by thinking his name.

They were still at a stasis there. How, Anna couldn't understand. She had tried to subtly let him know how she felt, never passing up the opportunity to flirt with him if it arose, letting her hand linger against his a little too long to be entirely accidental, tilting her head and fluttering her eyelashes, hanging onto his every word. They were the signs that women were supposed to give, weren't they? Everyone else made it sound so easy. If she was honest with herself, she was on the brink of just grabbing hold of him and kissing him senseless to get her point across. She had never met a man who was so oblivious. Half of the time, she was caught between wondering if he was just very out of practice, or if he was willingly choosing to ignore the signs.

Nor did she want anything to ruin their friendship, either. She had never known a man like him before. He was unfailingly kind, intelligent, dry-witted. He was far too harsh on himself for her liking, was prone to long periods of brooding, and didn't always take care of himself the way that he should, but all of those things made him the man she had fallen in love with.

She could admit that to herself now. She was in love with him.

And he was still very much married to another woman.

John had made several attempts to move the divorce along in the last months, but each one had failed. Anna had witnessed every range of emotion in him in those moments, from hotly burning ire to the dark depths of despair. There was nothing more that she wanted to do than comfort him, but how was she supposed to do that when all she _really_ wanted to do was take his hand in hers, smooth her thumb over the deeply etched lines on his face, and kiss away his disappointment?

It couldn't happen. And she had a feeling that his honour would never allow him to date another woman while he wasn't free. If he ever wanted to date again at all, after what that harpy had put him through. And even if he did, well, there was no guarantee that he would ever see her as more than the friend she had always been to him.

It wasn't a nice situation to be in. But right now, Anna couldn't see any way out of it.

* * *

She jumped as a bag was swung down and slammed heavily against the table top in front of her. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn't even realised that the door had opened. Mary's grinning face greeted her.

"So," she said, taking the seat opposite her, beginning to rummage through her bag. How she ever found anything in there was a mystery to Anna. She seemed to carry everything but the kitchen sink. No wonder it was so heavy.

"So?" Anna echoed, pushing herself into a sitting position.

"It's Valentine's Day on Saturday," said Mary.

"Yes, I know," said Anna. She was well aware of this fact; had been hoping that this might be the push that John needed to ask her out properly. Thus far, no invitation was forthcoming.

"Well, I'll be going out with Matthew," said Mary. "But I want to find you someone to go on a date with."

She rolled her eyes. "Not this again. Mary, honestly, it's fine."

"But I don't want you to be lonely!"

"I won't be. It's blown out of proportion anyway. Nowadays it's just a commercialised chance to show off how much money you can spend. I will be perfectly content with a bottle of wine and a Colin Firth film."

"I'll admit that Colin Firth is dashing for an older man, but even so, he's not a replacement for a real bed warmer."

Anna could feel her temper simmering. She so very rarely lost it, and she tried to tamp it down now. But she was tired of feeling as if she was under a microscope, being prodded and analysed. She knew Mary meant well, but she wasn't a child.

It didn't help that she had already given her heart away and couldn't talk to anyone else about it for fear of sounding stupid. If John wasn't around, perhaps she would have been more amenable to going out on one of Mary's blind dates and having a bit of fun…

As it was, there was no chance. And constantly being surrounded by lovey-dovey sentiments did little to cure her feelings of loneliness. Shops advertised it in every window, the flower shop was inundated with red roses, and even supermarkets stocked a collection of different cuddly toys bearing love puns.

Possibly sensing how close she was to snapping, Mary held up her hands, her face oddly soft. "Okay, okay, I get it. I'll shut up. But we'll definitely do something for Galentine's Day, just the two of us. How does that sound?"

Anna smiled gratefully. "That sounds lovely."

"Great. I'll sort us something out. And I promise I won't mention the em-word for the entire day."

"Thank you."

Mary's grin turned mischievous. "But, technically, I've still got a few hours left to badger you, so how about a date with Charles Blake—?"

" _Mary!"_

* * *

February the fourteenth dawned mild but dull. Anna went through her usual morning routines before making her way across town to _Violet's Flower Garden_. Mary had already complained that she shouldn't be going into work on Valentine's Day, and she herself wasn't sure if she could really handle all of the men who would be barrelling through that door to scoop up whatever flowers they could as an offering, but she wasn't one to shirk her duties. So she made her way across town, to find that Bill and Joseph Molesley had already opened up.

"Morning," Bill greeted her cheerfully, hefting a bucket of flowers up onto the desk just as Joseph barrelled into the room.

"Dad!" he panted. "What have I told you about lifting heavy things!? Let me do that!"

"Oh, stop fussing," said Bill. "I've plenty of muscle left yet. How are you, love?"

Anna forced a smile. "Fine, thank you, Bill. I'll be out with you in a moment. Let me just hang up my coat."

She slipped into the back and shrugged off her coat, taking a moment to prepare herself. At least she could console herself with the fact that, in a few hours, it would all be over, and she could go back to her own wallowing.

* * *

There was little time to breathe all morning. At one point, the shop was so full that there was a queue going out the door. Anna was surprised that they hadn't yet run out of flowers. It was probably only a matter of time now.

In the brief lull that had settled over them, Anna wiped her brow.

"I'm done in," she said. "Fancy a cup of tea, you two?"

"Aye, lassie, I wouldn't say no," said Bill, mopping at his own brow.

"I'll fetch us some cake from Mrs. Patmore's," Joseph offered. "We can take a break while we've got the chance."

He disappeared out the front door, and Bill came through into the back to set up the tiny table in the pokey back room while Anna brewed the tea. All three of them spent a contented few minutes together, sipping in silence, letting the bliss of having nothing to do wash over them. When they had cleared their plates, Anna stood, intent on taking them to the sink to wash, but Bill stopped her.

"I'll do that," he said gruffly.

"There's no need!" she said.

"You work yourself to the bone every day of the week. It's only a bit of pot washing. It's not going to kill me."

"But—"

Bill fixed her with a stare. "I mean it. Don't you dare lift a finger."

The bell over the shop tinkled. Anna leapt to her feet. That, at least, was something she could do—

"I'll get it," said Joseph, heaving himself to his feet.

"No, I can do it," said Anna.

"Dad's right. You work hard all week."

"And you don't?" she shot back.

Joseph just shrugged, looking mildly uncomfortable. "I just want to give you an easy time of it. You're always doing things for other people. Just let someone do something for you for a change."

She opened her mouth to argue with both men—she didn't mind which one she beat, really—but before she could formulate another sentence, they'd both left her, Bill to the kitchen, and Joe back into the main area of the shop. She blinked.

She rose after a few moments, determined to help one or the other damn what they said. She thought that Bill would probably be the easier to get around, when the sound of voices made her pause. Well, it couldn't hurt to take a quick peek at the man who had just entered. She sneaked up to the door, hanging to the side so she couldn't be spotted. She peered through the small circle of glass, out into the room, where the front desk was just visible…

Her heart stopped.

It was John. _John_ was standing in the flower shop.

She'd taken a step towards the door, intent on going out to greet him, when something stopped her. There was something about him that was…different. He looked shifty, somehow. His eyes kept darting around, as if he expected to be interrupted at any moment, and he was holding himself stiffly, not leaning against his cane as he usually did. More curious than ever, she crept closer to the door, pushing it open the smallest amount so that the voices would drift through the crack.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she heard Joseph saying in a cautious voice, as if he thought the man standing in front of him was a few cards short of the full deck, with his constantly flitting gaze.

"Oh, well…I was just wondering, is Anna Smith here?"

"Anna?" Joseph sounded surprised and suspicious. "Who wants to know that?"

"John Bates," said John, though he didn't offer his hand. "I'm a friend of hers."

"I've heard her mention you a few times," Joe muttered.

"So, is she here?"

"Yes, she is. She's in the back somewhere. Should I fetch her for you?"

"No, no, that's fine," John said quickly. Anna felt twin stabs of surprise and hurt that he didn't want to say hello. "Don't disturb her. I was wondering if you might be able to help me, actually."

"With what?"

"I want a bouquet of flowers made up. For…" He swallowed. "For Valentine's Day."

"I see," said Joseph. "Do you have any particular flowers that you'd like?"

"I trust your expertise. Just…I'd like a couple of roses in there."

"Certainly sir."

Heart pounding, Anna listened to Joe rustling around the place. One thought chased after another, never staying long enough to grasp hold of properly and examine. John was buying _flowers_. _John_. Why? He couldn't have come to pick up another 'I hate you' bouquet for Vera on the most romantic day of the year, not with roses involved. Was…was there another woman he was keeping quiet? They never talked about his love life beyond Vera. But he had been in Downton for almost a year now. He could have met someone in that time, grown close to her, perhaps started seeing her…

She liked to think that he might have told her if that was the case, but he was infuriatingly private at times. And perhaps he thought that if he kept it completely quiet, there was less of a chance of Vera finding out and trying to prolong the divorce even further. Not only that, it was plain that he didn't want her to see him here.

Oh, God, what would it do to her if she had to stand there and pretend to be happy that he was moving on with his life, when all she wanted was to be the woman he moved on with? What if he brought her round for her to meet, and wanted them to be good friends? What if…what if she was also a little younger, and still able to carry children? What if she had to watch him doting on a child that he didn't share with her? She swallowed, angry at herself when she felt the prickle of tears just behind her eyes. She was foolish. _Foolish_. She had no right to cry, or any right to feel resentful of any happiness he might have. She had thought it to herself many times over: he deserved someone who would love him the way that he should be loved.

She'd just always hoped that she might be that person.

Trying to shake those thoughts away, she returned her attention to what Joseph was saying, hoping that he might glean something useful inadvertently.

"This is a fine bouquet, if I may say so myself," said Joseph. "I trust that flowers as fine as these are meant for a woman who is equally fine?"

John made a non-committal sound.

"Anna has never mentioned that you've got a girlfriend," Joseph continued glibly.

John still said nothing. Was that sign of his guilt?

"I hope they make whoever they're intended for very happy," said Joseph. Anna could tell from his tone of voice that he was not comfortable with John's radio silence.

Thankfully, that comment broke a little of the ice; though he did not offer much of a reply, John had at least spoken. "I hope so too. She likes flowers. I thought it would be a nice gesture."

"Well, you're a braver man than I am, Gunga Din," said Joseph wistfully. "I wish I had that kind of confidence. There's someone that _I_ would like to send flowers to, but I've never quite worked up the courage. I don't think she'd reject me out of hand, but it's so horrible, putting yourself out there like that, isn't it?"

"Yes," said John automatically. Now it was his turn to shift uncomfortably. From what little Anna could see of his face, it was plain that he did not like the deeper waters that this conversation was heading towards.

Joseph was oblivious. He gave a mournful sigh as he wrapped the bouquet in cellophane. "There's one woman. I've known her for a few years, and I've always wanted to ask her if she would consider…well, giving me a chance. I know she could do so much better than me, but I would do anything for her." He dropped his voice further, reaching for a ribbon to add the finishing touch. "Can I trust you, Mr. Bates?"

"With what?" said John cautiously.

"With…with her identity. I was wondering if you might be able to help me."

"Oh, I don't think I could help with matters of the heart—" John said, but Joseph wasn't listening. He launched into his own speech, and Anna suddenly wished that she could back away and unhear it.

"It's Anna," he said. "Anna Smith."

John's eyes widened. "Anna…Anna Smith? _My_ Anna?"

Anna's heart did a funny swoop in her chest, as if it wasn't sure which direction it should go, up or down.

" _Your_ Anna?" Joe said suspiciously.

John flushed. "As in, my _friend_ Anna. The Anna who works here?"

"Of course that Anna," he said impatiently. "And here's how I think you might be able to give me some guidance: you're good friends with her. Better friends with her than I am, anyway. I assume she tells you things. So could you tell me, man to man, whether she's got anyone special in her life? I would hate to step on anyone else's toes and make it an uncomfortable situation for all, but if there's any chance at all…"

His voice petered out as he tied a decisive bow. Anna's brain buzzed, and she squeezed her eyes closed briefly. Inadvertently, it was out there on the table. Mary might have teased her about it, and she might have suspected it on some level, but it had never once been voiced aloud. She had always been able to pretend that there was nothing more to know. She had never seen him as any more than a friend; there had never been any chemistry between them. He'd always seemed more than content to bury his head in a book, and she herself could never view him any other way than how she did.

Now…

God, this would be awkward. How would she be able to face him now and pretend that she still had no idea that he felt any different about her than she did about him? Although that was better than the alternative of having to let him down gently…

She was jolted out of her frantic thoughts by John's voice, deep and remorseful. "Well, I'm sorry to say, but—"

But quite what was never discovered. At that moment, old Bill Molesley shouted for his son from the tiny kitchenette area, and Joseph jumped as if he had been shocked, almost dropping the bouquet. Seeming to come back to himself, he ducked his head and mumbled, "Where do you want the flowers sending?"

As before, John shook his head. "I would prefer to sort that out for myself, thank you."

Joseph nodded, thrusting the bouquet hastily at his chest. He mumbled the price and practically snatched the money from his hands, ringing it into the till and turning away without another word. Anna backed away quickly, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. By the time that Joe entered the room and the bell tinkled to signal that John had once again exited, she was sitting back at the table, as if she had never moved.

"What's wrong?" she asked innocently, pretending to be shocked at Joseph's pale complexion.

"Nothing," he muttered, pushing past. "Do you know what Dad wants?"

"No. Who was that in the shop?"

"No one," he said in the same tone. "Excuse me."

He swept through into the kitchenette, and Anna turned her head in the direction of the flower shop's front room, wondering.

Wondering.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon seemed to drag. Anna was glad when two o'clock came around. She bid goodbye to the two Molesleys and made her way back across town to her flat. Mary, it seemed, had just arrived back from a shopping spree. There were bags strewn all across the kitchen table. Anna spied a lingerie bag from a well-known, sexy retailer. The sight made her feel oddly lonely. Stupid, really.

"Hello," she greeted her friend wearily, dropping down into a seat. "Good day?"

"Excellent," said Mary, rifling through her things. "I picked out a new outfit for my date with Matthew tonight. I'm certain he's going to love it."

"Well, you look beautiful in anything," she said. "Matthew is a lucky man."

"I hope he knows it," said Mary, as humble as ever. Her expression morphed into one of concern. "Are you sure you're going to be all right tonight?"

"I'll be fine. I've been looking forward to my date with Colin Firth all day."

"It's not too late, you know. I can still rustle up someone for you to go out with. I could ask Matthew if he has any single lawyer friends if you really don't want to go out with one of the eligible bachelors I know."

"I'll pass, thank you."

"Well, this is the last time I'm going to let you. You just need to take a leap, that's all. It's always scary the first time after a breakup. But you've not had a relationship for _ages_. You've not even had something casual! It's a tragedy as far as I'm concerned."

Anna couldn't help her smirk at that. Typical Mary, to be such a drama queen. "I wouldn't say that. There's solace in having a bit of peace and quiet to yourself, you know." Not that she wouldn't give all that up in a heartbeat if a certain John Bates ever let her know that he was interested…

She might as well have been talking in tongues. Mary only rolled her eyes, an expression of pained horror upon her face.

"Have it your way, then," she said. "Look, I've got a little time before I have to start getting ready. Why don't you choose a film and we'll watch one together? I have to admit, even I think Colin Firth is dishy."

Anna smiled up at her gratefully.

"Thank you," she said.

Her head was still spinning with the things she had discovered that day. It would be good to push them to the back of her mind for a while, however briefly it might be.

* * *

They spent a happy couple of hours together. Mary cracked open the wine early, and Anna was quick to indulge in a couple of glasses, figuring that it was the best way to dull the thoughts in her head. They sighed over Colin Firth's character's romantic antics, and when it was over, Mary gave her an uncharacteristic hug and went off to get ready. Shaking her head, Anna switched back over to the TV channels, flicking through until she settled on some kind of quiz show.

Matthew's knock came at half past six.

"I'll get it," said Mary, leaping up from the settee. She patted her hair and smoothed her dress down, pushing her shoulders back. Anna had to smile. Whatever she might say, Mary had _never_ acted this way before with any other man she'd dated. It was a testimony to Matthew Crawley that he alone had been able to tame the wildness in her. They really did love each other.

"Hello!" She heard Matthew's greeting from over the threshold.

"Oh, how lovely, you brought me flowers!" said Mary. Anna deliberately kept facing the other way so as to give them the privacy of a proper greeting.

"Hello, Matthew!" she threw over her shoulder instead. She heard the pop of their lips as they came apart, and the crinkle of cellophane as Mary clearly tried to prise the flowers from her boyfriend's hands.

"Hello, Anna," said Matthew distractedly. "And no, Mary, I'm sorry, these flowers aren't for you."

" _What_?" said Mary. "Why, have you got another girl on the go?"

"No," he said. "I picked them up outside the door. They've got Anna's name on."

For a moment, the words didn't quite register in her head. But, as Mary shrieked, Anna whirled around on the sofa, almost toppling off of it in her shock. _Her?_

Her hands flew up to her mouth to stifle a cry of her own.

The bouquet that he was clutching in his hands was unmistakable.

It was _John's_. The one John had had made up only a few hours ago. The one with red roses. Roses that symbolised romance and passion and love. The ones he had wanted to deliver himself.

God, she had hoped that they might somehow make their way to her, but she had never quite wanted to believe it in case she was disappointed…

Mary's eyes were alive with curiosity and triumph as she turned around to face her. "Oh, my lord! This is quite the unexpected little surprise. Did you know, you dark horse?"

"No," she said. "I had no idea." That much, at least, was true. She _hadn't_ expected them to turn up on her doorstep like an anonymous gift.

"Did you check if there was a note with them?" Mary asked Matthew eagerly. "A love letter, perhaps?"

"No note," said Matthew. "But there was a card in there. It's how I knew they were for Anna. Otherwise I might have thought that I had some competition somewhere."

"Well, it _is_ a little bit of a blow that they aren't made for me," said Mary matter-of-factly. "It suggests that I'm losing my touch. But I have you, so I don't suppose I can complain too much."

Matthew rolled his eyes.

On legs that shook, Anna stood, closing the distance between them. Matthew held out the flowers, and she took them into her arms, dipping her nose to breathe in the beautiful, perfumed scent of them. Up close, she was granted the opportunity to see just how gorgeous they were. Blood red roses, white asters, gold acacias, purple tulips...they were bright and cheery.

"Where's the card?" Mary demanded.

"Still in the flowers, look," said Matthew, pointing it out. "I put it back as soon as I read the name."

Mary seized it at once, bringing it up in front of her eyes as if it was a rare piece of metal that needed to be identified. "Do you recognise the writing, Anna?"

She waved it about in front of her face. Anna squinted. The lettering was harsh and blocked. It was nothing at all like John's regular handwriting, which was joined and neat. He had obviously tried to throw her off the scent by disguising it. She probably _would_ have been, if she hadn't seen him with this very bouquet.

"No," she said. That was another honest admission.

Mary frowned. "Well, let's think about this logically. There's someone out there that you know who fancies you. I mean, the most obvious conclusion to draw is that it's—"

"It's not necessarily someone she knows," Matthew interrupted. Anna had never been more grateful to him for derailing his girlfriend; she knew exactly who Mary had been about to name.

"What, so you think a stranger is going to send her flowers?" Mary said scathingly.

"It's a possibility."

"And also creepy. That's stalkerish behaviour. I like my theory better."

"It still doesn't narrow it down," Anna said quickly. "I know plenty of men. It could be any one of them. A teacher at the school, for one thing."

Mary's eyes gleamed. "So does that mean you have an inkling?"

"No!" she said quickly. "No clue."

"Then we've got to investigate it. This could be huge!"

"But right now we have dinner reservations," said Matthew tentatively.

Mary looked like she was ready to tell Matthew that they could stuff the dinner reservations, so Anna thought it best to intervene.

"That's right," she said. "You go out and have a lovely evening. The mystery will still be here when you come back."

"Fine," Mary sighed, turning to prod Matthew in the chest. "But you're not stopping over tonight. I can't have sex when there's such a big mystery to solve."

Matthew looked mortified.

"Too much information," Anna said hastily. "Just go. I've still got my own date with Colin Firth to finish up."

" _Fine_ ," Mary sighed again. "But at least _try_ and come up with a shortlist of who it might be. We'll need something to go on."

"Roger that. See you later."

Matthew and Mary waved—the latter reluctantly—and, blessedly, closed the door behind them. Anna waited ten minutes, just to be sure that they had gone, and then hurried to snatch up her coat. She had some investigating of her own to do.

* * *

She cursed the fact that she had had a drink when she had to walk across town to get to John's quaint little cottage right on the outskirts. She could have ordered a taxi, but she hadn't felt much in the mood to make conversation with the driver, or worse, potentially have to fend off some leering comments about why she was alone on Valentine's Day. So instead she walked, not sure whether it was a good thing or not that it gave her so much extra time to think. Inside, her heart was galloping a hundred miles a second, and she couldn't stop herself from running the events of the afternoon through her head, as if it was a film on repeat. She was nervous, exhilarated, trying out conversation starters in her head before dismissing them out of hand.

She really only needed to focus on one specific. And that was that John Bates had sent her flowers.

By the time his cottage came into view, she was flushed and sweaty, her nerves jangling. But there was no backing away now. She had come this far. It was time to confront him, as she had always longed to do. Surely there could be no painful outcome. He would not have sent her the flowers otherwise.

Inhaling deeply, trying to get herself back under control, she reached up and rapped on the door. A few moments later, the hall light switched on, and she saw John's shadow approaching the front door. The key jingled in the lock, and then he pulled it open, leaving her face to face with him for the first time since she had learned the truth.

"Anna?" he said, his brow crinkled in that adorable way of his. "Is everything all right?" There was a glint of trepidation in his eyes, one she might have missed under other circumstances.

"Fine," she said breathlessly. "More than fine."

And, really, there was only one thing she could do now that she was there in front of him. All of the lines she had been rehearsing seemed inadequate, unable to cover the depth of her gratitude and relief for what he had done.

She took a step forward, stretched up on her tiptoes, and planted her lips right on his.

For a dizzying moment, the whole world seemed to stop turning. There was nothing there but the pounding of her blood through her veins, John muffled sound of surprise, and the glorious _glorious_ texture of his mouth beneath hers. For that long moment, that was the only contact they had. She did not try to encourage him deeper, or even encourage him to move his mouth against hers. The world was still, and so were they.

And then it exploded back into life with a rush of sound. John pulled away from her, their lips parting with a soft smack. She was pleased to see that his cheeks had gone bright red.

"Anna—what—" he started.

"Shh," she said, cutting him off. She didn't know why he would question it. He had left the flowers on her doorstep. He surely had to know why she was there. His clear embarrassment was endearing. "I just wanted to say thank you."

"Th-thank you?" he stammered. "For what?"

"Don't play coy with me, John," said Anna. "We both know why I'm here. The flowers. You left a bouquet of flowers on my doorstep."

He gulped. "How did…?"

"It wasn't too difficult to work out," she said, then added after a beat, "I saw you. In the flower shop earlier. I recognised the bouquet immediately."

"Oh," said John, and there was a strange kind of defeat in his tone. It wasn't a sound she liked.

"Do you mind if I come in?" she said. "It's a bit nippy out here." She'd think better if she was out of the cold; he'd probably respond better if he didn't think the neighbours were peering out of their front windows at them.

"Of course," John said automatically, standing aside so she could slip past him. He closed the door.

She felt better in this environment, in these familiar surroundings. Allowing him a moment to compose himself, she said, "I don't understand why you're so perturbed that I worked things out. Why send the flowers if you didn't want me to know?"

He shifted from foot to foot. "Well…of course I wanted you to know. Eventually. One day. I just…didn't expect you to appear on my doorstep just a few hours later. I certainly didn't think you'd _seen_ me."

"You know I work there every Saturday," she pointed out. "You should have used some other flower shop if you wanted to keep it a secret."

"But Violet's has the best flowers," he said matter-of-factly. "I didn't want to send you second best. I just…" He shook his head helplessly. "Christ, I don't know."

She took a bold step towards him. "You must know some things. You must know that you have feelings for me."

"I just thought it was a nice gesture. A friendly one."

"Red roses, John. Thy were there for a reason. You don't send a friend red roses."

"I never pretended to be a flower expert."

"No one is that ignorant."

John swayed, looking extremely uncomfortable. She didn't care. She wouldn't back down. This was what she had spent over a year longing for. She would not allow this moment to slip through her fingers just to let him have a way out. He had made a choice, and he had to stand by it.

"Look," she said quietly, "if it makes you feel any better, you must know that it was a very nice surprise for me." She felt heat surging into her cheeks. "I wouldn't have kissed you otherwise. Take it as a very positive sign."

John's cheeks were still flaming too, but there was a resigned look in his eyes. It wasn't a look she liked. "I know. And I have to say, the whole thing is very overwhelming. But I still didn't intend for this. Not now."

Anna felt her heart sinking; the whole euphoria of the last half an hour was fast leaving her, like air from a punctured balloon. "What do you mean?"

He gave an agonised sigh. "I didn't want to say anything outright because I'm not good enough for you."

She blinked at him. "You…you can't be serious?"

But there was no hint of a smile on John's face. He looked deadly serious.

"How can you possibly argue against me?" he said. "There are a hundred reasons why I wouldn't be good for you. A thousand, probably."

"Name them, then," she challenged him.

He held up his fingers and began ticking off a list, as if he had been preparing for this moment for some time. "I'm far too old for you, for one thing. I'm an ex-alcoholic. I'm a cripple in the eyes of society. I've had an absolute disaster of a marriage, with a woman who puts the devil to shame."

"That's only four reasons," she replied tartly. "Five if I'm generous enough to count your marriage and Vera as two separate things. That's nowhere near a hundred, never mind a thousand. And they're all easy to counter." She held up her own fingers. "I couldn't care less about the age difference. You're not old, as far as I'm concerned, and I think it aids us rather than hinders us. We're always on the same page, in a way I could probably never be with someone my own age. The key part of ex-alcoholic is _ex_. You've not touched a drop in years, you told me yourself. You're a different man. I've never seen you as less of a man just because you have to use a cane. In fact, you know I think more of you. You jumped in front of a _bullet_ for someone. I don't think there are that many people brave enough to do something like that. And as for your marriage…well, I hope that one day soon it'll be over, and I'm not of scared of Vera. Just let her try and come between us."

"You don't know Vera."

"She doesn't know _me_. Mum always says I'm too stubborn for my own good. I certainly wouldn't let someone like that beat me." She paused, trying to tamper down her frustration. "I'm sorry, John, I just can't understand your reasoning. And if you're serious about not really wanting me to know, then you disappoint me."

"Why?" he said. He tried to keep his tone light, but Anna could see straight through it. If there was one thing John Bates hated, it was to be a disappointment to those he held in high regard. It might yet be the way to break him.

"Because I thought you were different," she said simply. "I thought you were better than toying with my emotions."

He frowned at her. "I've never toyed with your emotions."

"Maybe not intentionally, or even consciously. But you have, John. Surely you must see that." She took a deep breath. "Look, there's no point in beating around the bush. It's as plain as day. I fancy you. I have done almost from the beginning. You were such a gentleman. I've never known a man like you before. But you're hurting me. I've spent all this time with my head in a spin, never quite able to work out what you feel about me, whether it's strictly platonic or whether there might be the potential for something more. I feel like I've been held in limbo, like I'm walking across a tightrope, never sure whether I'll end up falling off or if I'll reach the other side intact. Flowers mean something, John. They're not something that can be easily dismissed or forgotten. How am I supposed to feel, knowing that you sent me a bouquet on Valentine's Day with no intention of taking things further? Knowing that you were content to let me wonder just who had sent it without ever saying a word? And who _was_ I supposed to suspect?"

"I don't know," he muttered. "That Molesley fellow, probably. He fancies you. He'd be a better candidate, as well. He doesn't come with my baggage."

"That's ridiculous," she said impatiently. "Joseph would never have sprung to my mind. I don't feel that way about him. He's a good friend, and I thought the feeling was mutual."

"Well, he probably would have been happy to let you suspect him."

"And would that have made _you_ happy?" she countered. "To let him have that glory?"

"Well, no," he grumbled. "But it would have been better than you finding out."

"Which is only leading us in circles. Why would you do something like that if you had no intention of exploring it? Why would you treat me so badly?"

"I don't want to treat you badly," he said softly, and the sincerity of his voice flooded through her. "You have to believe me."

She sighed. "I do. I do, John. But you have to admit, it was a pretty horrible thing to do."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Sorry can't change what happened. Sorry can't take away the hope you've given me." Her throat worked. "Please, don't take away the hope you've given me. I just need to understand, without any lies. What prompted this?"

For long moments, John did not speak. Anna was suddenly acutely aware of how absurd this whole situation was, how they hadn't moved one inch from the hallway. His expression indicated that he had no idea what he should do. This was her chance. She had to seize with with both hands.

"Please," she said. "Please don't lie to me."

A few more tense seconds passed, and then…success.

"I never thought I could be free for you," he whispered. "I'd resigned myself to being alone for the rest of my life, chained to Vera, watching you marry and build a happy life with someone else. But then something completely unexpected happened yesterday."

"What?" Anna prompted.

He licked his lips, seemingly unable to form the words. She was shocked to see tears forming in his eyes. She took an instinctive step closer, reaching out and laying her hand on his forearm. He inhaled sharply his gaze falling to her fingers clenched around his arm. Sensing that this was bigger than she could have possibly imagined, she said softly, "John, what is it?"

To her surprise, he chuckled hoarsely, disbelievingly. The tears actually _spilled_. "It's official, Anna. I'm a free man. I'm no longer married."

It took a very long time for those words to sink in, the momentousness of them simply not registering. John was not married. Vera was out of the picture. He was free to pursue other people. He was free to pursue…her.

Without thinking to check her reaction, she screamed, throwing her arms around his neck enthusiastically. He almost stumbled over as she forced his head into the crook of her neck, squeezing the life out of him.

"This is fantastic news!" she squealed. "I can't believe that you didn't tell me! Oh, I'm so happy for you!"

And she was. She really, really was. She had watched him for too long be defeated by that harpy. Now he could finally begin to move on.

Move on. With _her_. That had to be his ultimate plan. He never would have sent the flowers otherwise. Whether it was in a moment of weakness or not was irrelevant. He had not wanted her to be stigmatised with engaging in a relationship with a married man; now, that was gone.

John cleared his throat as he put some distance between them once more. "Thank you. It means a lot to hear that."

"And that was why you sent the flowers," she said. "You thought that now you were free, you could at least leave a hint of the way you felt about me."

"Which I realise was a very stupid notion."

She looked up into his face, into the tired lines and realised that he truly believed that. He truly believed that he could never make her happy, that he wouldn't be good for her. She had never known too many details of Vera and John's marriage, but it made her blood boil to think that she must really have spun a poisonous web around him to make him feel that he could never be good for anyone else. He was a completely different man to the man he had been before, and he _still_ couldn't see how much he had changed.

"No," she said lowly and forcefully, and to her relief it made him look at her. "No. Now you listen to me, John Bates. It was not a stupid notion. It was the best thing you could have ever done. You have so much more to offer. You are so much more than the mistakes you have made. You are endlessly kind, caring, funny, gentle. You have all of the qualities that women _dream_ about finding in a man. Not all of them are ever that lucky. But I have been. I've spent so long thinking that you don't feel the same way about me, but you do. And I'm not going to let you slip away, you hear me? I'm going to fight for you every step of the way. I'll fight every single one of your demons if I have to. You sent those flowers because you feel something for me. I came here tonight because I feel something for you. It's as simple as that. We don't need to ask questions. We just need to follow it, and it will lead us in the right direction."

John was looking at her as if he had never quite seen her before. "You…you mean all this? Truly?"

"Truly," she confirmed. "You can't fight it forever, John. You might be free of her, but that way, she still wins because she's stopped you from ever being happy with someone you like again. Even if…even if it wasn't me that you wanted, I would still want that for you. I don't want you to feel lonely for the rest of your life."

"I don't want anyone else," he said helplessly. "It's always been you, almost from the moment I met you."

She beamed at him, her world exploding into vivid colour once more. Sweeter words had never been heard. John Bates had just admitted to wanting her. Aloud. With nowhere else to hide. It was the biggest victory she had ever recorded.

She slipped her hand into his and leaned up on her tiptoes, so close that her mouth watered, for she was sure she could almost taste him again. "You're in luck, Mr. Bates. Because I don't want anyone other than you, either. Happy Valentine's Day."

Without waiting for him to answer, she closed the distance between them for the second time, capturing his mouth with her own. And it truly was the most exquisite thing she had ever experienced. This time, John was not passive, his arms tentatively coming up around her as he slanted his mouth with cautious enthusiasm against hers.

What a truly wonderful Valentine's Day it had turned out to be, she thought hazily in the back of her mind.

She was sure that the days could only get better from here.

* * *

And they did. Their early relationship bloomed like dainty spring flowers, becoming powerful and vibrant. Anna would only grow more infatuated by the day, falling even more deeply in love with the man who loved her endlessly and now followed her eagerly around the flower shop whenever there was a lull, claiming that he wanted to learn more.

In two years' time, Anna would discover the full extent of his keenness. The book that she had glimpsed on his bookshelf all that time ago would turn out to be a book detailing the definitions of flowers, and this time he would present her with a bouquet of his own creation, filled with jasmines and arbutuses and gorse and heliotrope, with a ring nestled in the centre, attached to a card that read, _Will you marry me?_

She'd kiss him first, answer him second. Their future would bloom with colour and life.


End file.
